His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches
I know He watches
I know He watches me.
It can be more than a little confusing. Using the google, a quick hit on "eye is on the sparrow jewish" will take you to some positively freightening (from a Jewish perspective) Jews for Jesus links. Let's be clear on this - it isn't Jewish music. But we (meaning "we Jews") can lose sight of that - either because we don't recognize it as such or just because it doesn't really matter to us. The imagery of the words doesn't necessarily announce to us that it is decidedly Christian folk music; what does "his eye is on the sparrow" mean to me, really? And it's not like we need to understand what all song lyrics mean. What the heck, for example, does "I am the walrus" mean, and who really cares? I could have missed the Christian-ness of Sparrow entirely (well, probably not, but I could have ignored it), were it not for the reference in the song that "Jesus is my portion" - another statement that I don't really understand except to know that, hey, it's not a Jewish thing, now is it?
So, is Carrie Rodriguez talking about - or to - G-d in "St. Peter's"? Maybe, but again, I'm not sure. Is that Christian imagery or a memory of a loved one? If so, why does the song have to have that great hook to it that makes it almost impossible to turn off, that just keeps you waiting through the painful reflection for the joyful spingboard two-thirds into the music, just to turn back to the gripping sense of loss and longing at the close of St. Peter's? Then there's almost all of The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's Will the Circle Be Unbroken. We're just scratching the surface when it comes to bluegrass - it's pretty hard to get away from its spiritual roots; while much of the new bluegrass has moved beyond those themes, the foundations of traditional bluegrass remain.
History has us hard-wired as Jews to fear much of what we don't understand in other religious and cultural traditions as an attempt to destroy our Jewishness. Much of modern Christian evangelical fundamentalism - the Jews for Jesus movement, Campus Crusade, that whole segment of the mid-to-high teens on the cable box - is a counterpart of a Christian mission to embed New Testament ideas which, when directed toward Jews, as it often is, can and often should be seen, operationally and functionally, if not intentionally, as anti-Semitic in its almost obsessive goal to literally convert our Jewish spirit (through appeal to a stripped-down cultural identity appeal, incorporating stereotypical Jewish appearances and accents and visuals into Christian dogma) into Christain faith. As Jews we live in a defensive crouch on lookout for cult-like evangelicals on a mission to capture the hearts and souls of our children, children who are searching to find their way in a Jewish culture that encourages and demands argument and struggle and questioning, leaving them, we fear, vulnerable against a Christianity that offers a perception of certainty and peace by simple acceptance. Being Jewish, spiritually and culturally, requires hard work (which is, really, an advantage, although not always perceived as such). We instinctively react with a defense mechanism of guarding against those influences that might pose a challenge to Jewish identification and the culturally extraordinary effort required to maintain our identity.
And so at some level it seems that bluegrass Gospel music - from a rural Southern tradition that is interwoven with the Bible Belt - would trigger those primal Jewish defensive instincts, that this is just not kosher music. "What they couldn't achieve through the gas chambers," we can hear our grandmothers say, "you'll let them achieve through their music!" And they'd be right at a certain level - just do that google search I mentioned above. The machinery of annihilation can come in many forms, and it's no less damaging if it is based on a desire to "spread the good word."
Yet my beliefs aren't undermined by listening to those songs. Quite the opposite instincts are triggered, in fact, and I find myself feeling more spiritual (if not more religious) in a Jewish way, closer to a sense of godliness, when I hear some of this gospel bluegrass. Why is that?
This morning I ran across this, which may explain a bit - if not why this music is so compelling, in a uniquely Jewish way apart from its original intention, then at least that I am not alone in my Jewish attraction to it:
In country, Andy Statman is nominated for best country instrumental song. Statman, who plays clarinet and mandolin, is a devout Orthodox Jew. He is considered one of the best bluegrass and klezmer musicians of all time.
Statman was one of the founders of the progressive bluegrass music movement of the '70s and he's one of a surprisingly large number of urban Jews who have become top bluegrass players (Bela Fleck, David Grisman, John Cohen, etc.). Heavily Jewish New York City is known as the best market for bluegrass music outside the South.
One of Statman's best friends is Ricky Skaggs, a famous bluegrass player whose musical roots are in also in gospel music. A religious Christian, Skaggs says:
"There's something that Jewish people love about bluegrass. I'm trying to get my thumb on it as well. There's something very spiritually connected to Israel. I don't know exactly how."
I think Ricky's partially right, though like him, I don't really understand it. But I think the key is less a connection to Israel - I'm pretty sure that Ricky isn't talking about the People of Israel in the sense of the Jewish people, but rather is talking about the nation of Israel - but instead is a connection to the spirituality of prayer, and Jewish prayer, and in particular the role of music in Jewish prayer. I wish I had seen all of this a few months ago - I would have mentioned it to Ricky Skaggs when I met him back in October. It would have made for a very interesting conversation. Ricky's a conservative Christian, and he would most likely find a different message within bluegrass music than the one I hear when I listen, but it would be an extraordinary study.
Rabbi Reuven Hammer points out something interesting in our tradition:
The Talmud teaches that "If one reads [Scripture] without chant or studies [Mishnah] without melody, of him is it written, 'I gave them laws that were not good' (Ezekiel 20:25)." Melody adds not only to the beauty but even to the quality of the words. To this day, learning in traditional yeshivot is done to the accompaniment of a kind of singsong melody. The Torah is not read during the synagogue service; it is sung.
We pray to song, and Jewish prayer is not the same without that song, the melody of a Shabbat service or a holiday or even Shivah, the period of mourning. The tunes brings us closer to our Jewishness, however we perceive that, whether as a relationship with G-d or "godliness" or a deepened connection to our history or our inner consciousness and values. The melody may have even more meaning than the words themselves, in no small part because most of us don't understand most of the Hebrew that we are singing word for word. We generally know what the prayer is about, but a real time, word for word translation as we say the prayer? Not so much. And when we do understand the words? Well, most of our traditional blessings repeat the same concepts over and over again. Thanks, praise and acknowledgement of the supremacy of the one G-d, commitment to and an obligation to follow laws, seeking peace and wisdom, repeat. Music serves to set the mood. We can be most inspired when a service casts off the conversations and responsive readings and floods us over with music, like at B'nai Jeshurun on New York City's Upper West Side, or at our synagogue's monthly musical Friday-night service.
We may even go so far as to say that words can be impediments to the deepest communication, for what words can adequately express our feelings about God? Nor can they truly capture the depths of our emotions at times of grief or of overwhelming joy. In the words of the Hasidic master R. Dov Baer, "The ecstasy produced by melody ... is in the category of spontaneous ecstasy alone, without any choice or intellectual will whatsoever."
Words can become idols. They concretize that which cannot be concretized. Ideas can intellectualize experience. Melody is pure soul. One understands why many western congregations have included "readings"--translations of prayers without any melody-into the service. But we would be well advised not to abandon the use of chanting in prayer. We need not turn the service into a performance and the cantor (hazzan) into a performer in order to avail ourselves of the musical tradition to enhance our worship. Prayer is not a spectator sport. The role of the hazzan is to help us pray, to be the expert we may not be, to inspire us and guide us in a true experience of prayer.
And so the music, as music alone, means alot in our tradition, and cuts deep into our cultural and religious experience. Our cantor was a musician before becoming a cantor, which may not be that surprising, except when you realize that music is so fundamental that Jews actually have a specific clergy position for a singer. This is not some isolated incident, this role of music in Jewish life. Our assistant rabbi was also a professional musician before becoming a rabbi. The cantor/leader of one of my best friend's congregation across town is still a professional musician, who even played for Barack Obama at a campaign event last fall. We are imprinted as Jews, I think, to use music as our bridge from our daily lives to our spirituality, regardless of our religiousness.
And that gives us much in common with musicians like Ricky Skaggs or Bruce Hornsby or Abigail Washburn, who are not Jewish but who explore their worlds through their music.
The bluegrass champion [Ricky Skaggs] says, "I'm hoping and praying in my heart that when I play music, people's minds will be transformed, that they'll be able to focus on the spirit that's coming out of our music and they can have one hour of joy, feel some of the love coming out of our hearts.
"We need love. Everybody wants to be loved, and there's something about bluegrass music that evokes a happy, joyous, celebratory time. It's hard not to listen to How Mountain Girls Can Love and not tap your foot."
A recent phenomenon has occurred with the creation of "Jewgrass" music - not bluegrass played by Jews, but rather music influenced by mountain folk music with uniquely Jewish content to take the place of the Gospel underpinnings of bluegrass. Commentators on the Jewgrass music movement - while observing that country-western music cannot exist outside of its Christain roots - have noticed something quite different about bluegrass:
And there's the rub: Bluegrass' lyrics, like country music's, have always been overwhelmingly Christian. So Jewgrass shouldn't really be imaginable, let alone possible. But it has been. Quarantined by folk music and adopted by a large Northern constituency, bluegrass can pass as a real-live heritage for us all. It doesn't feel like an industry product associated with a particular group and a specific region.
And yet the content of the music matters, too, in its own way, which can sometimes (though not always, but we don't need to listen to it then, do we?) compel us to listen and think of the lyrics in their Jewish context.
Sparrow sends the message, "I know He watches me."
Those bluegrass gospel words provide, in an unexpected way, a profoundly Jewish message, provide not only comfort in our faith but also an obligation and duty, to act in a way that makes the world the best that we can make it. שים שלוֹם
שים שלוֹם Sim shalom.
Grant peace, goodness and blessing to the world, grace, kindness, and mercy to us and to all Your people Israel.
Bless us all, O our Creator, with the Divine light of Your provenance. For by that Divine light You have revealed to us Your life-giving Torah, and taught us lovingkindness, righteousness, mercy, and peace.
May it please You to bless Your people Israel, in every season and at every hour, with Your peace.
Praised are You, O Lord, Bestower of peace upon Your people Israel...
Oh Maker of harmony in the universe, grant peace to us, to Israel, and to all people everywhere.
That peace requires us to act to make it happen - we have been given the tools: Torah (the law), lovingkindness, righteousness, mercy, peace. And so our deeds, using those tools, are required to bring that peace, blessing, grace, kindness and compassion - that godliness - into our lives and into the world. Faith alone is not enough (and perhaps doesn't really matter at all - but that's another conversation). The Jewish conception is not about wishful thinking, or that the truth will set us free. It's about responsibility.
As Hillel summarized the principles of the Torah, as the Golden Rule, "What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor: that is the whole Torah; all the rest of it is commentary; go and learn."
In the religious language of Sparrow, He is watching us. And in our Jewish understanding of those words, it is our obligation to not let Him down. Not because score is being kept, but because bettering the world is the right thing to do.
Maybe that's our shared message, why as Jews we can relate to some bluegrass (not all bluegrass, for sure) in a deep, spiritual manner. Ricky Skaggs' quest to bring joy and celebration through his music. Abigail Washburn's and bluegrass legend Ralph Stanley's efforts to help bring positive change our country by helping elect Barack Obama. Our duty to make the world a better place. So this music that isn't intended at all to speak to us as Jews, in a way that conveys a uniquely Jewish message, does just that when heard through a Jewish filter.
Or maybe it's just really good music.
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